


Warrior

by bellarose_riddle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Wings and Embers, Wingspans, a court of mist and fury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarose_riddle/pseuds/bellarose_riddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nesta Archeron and her sister were forced to turn into that which they had always been told to fear, and she will retaliate for it.<br/>{ Nessian - Nesta/Cassian }</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rage

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finished reading A Court of Mist and Fury two days ago and I loved it so much I couldn't keep the feels for myself and had to write down something that came to my mind. Because there is just not enough Nessian in my life. I hope you like it.
> 
> xx

Elain was finally asleep, resting peacefully against the soft pillows of Nesta's bed, and her sister hope it lasted. She had been having nightmares and Nesta made sure to be there for her every time she awoke from them, to sooth her and reassure her of their safety, even if she herself wasn't sure they were save. It had been a week since Feyre had been taken away, a week since their lives had been taken away, and during all that time her sister's High Lord had offered them shelter at his house, on a city that they hadn't even cared to visit, and they had accepted it because they had nowhere else to go. Elain had been restless during the day, often crying and barely sleeping during the night. Nesta would sleep even less, as she refused to rest while her sister was not safe.

Nesta wanted to blame the High Lord of the Spring Court that had betrayed Feyre for what had happened, she wanted to blame the King of Hybern, she wanted to blame the High Lord of the Night Court, she wanted to blame Cassian, who had promised to protect them but in the end hadn't, but deep down she blamed herself. She blamed herself because she knew that she should have fought harder against the soldiers that came into their home. She should have killed them for touching Elain, or die trying, but she hadn't. And now they had both turned into that which they had been taught to fear and stay away from, and as much as she hated it, as much as she wasn't sure she could ever live with herself after such a change, she knew that she was going to use it. If the King of Hybern had been smart, he would have killed her instead of making her immortal, and now she was determined to use that eternity that he had forced upon her make him pay for her sister's suffering, even if she had to kill him with her bare hands. She had promised herself as much seconds before being dragged inside that damned Cauldron, seconds before fighting against those strange waters, even as they filled her lungs, her body and even her soul, and changed her in the most wicked way.

Seeing that Elain remained asleep, she allowed herself to stand from the foot of the bed and walk out of the room, thirsty. She was still adjusting to that strange body, which was her own but at the same time wasn't, and she held tight to the railing as she walked down the stairs of the house. The Morrigan had gifted her and her sister with some dresses that she thought would fit them, and the textures of them, the colours, were the greatest she had ever seen and Nesta had hoped Elain would notice too, but if she had, her once cheerful sister had said nothing about it. Nesta would have given her heart just to see her smile again. She headed back to the stairs after having some refreshment, not wanting to leave Elain alone for longer, and was startled when she saw Cassian resting against the door frame. She didn't let her surprise become apparent, though, raising her head and giving him a harsh stare, waiting for him to speak. And yet, even in the darkness of the now quiet house, she could see how he looked sick and she couldn't stop her eyes as they wandered to look at his wings. Nesta remembered them strong and big and overwhelming, and she remembered thinking how it'd be to fly as high as he did as she stared at him one day when he left her family home. Now they were ripped and shattered, and she had heard the High Lord say that he would heal, but as she stared at him, she couldn't imagine how. Several more seconds passed before he finally spoke.

"I couldn't keep my promise." He made his voice sound strong and steady even if he looked in pain.

Nesta didn't even flinch and her face was as hard as stone when she place her blue-grey eyes on his hazel ones. He had always been able to read her, since that first moment on her family's manor, to see that fire that burned inside of her and threatened to burn the world and him with it, but now he didn't know what to think of her actions. She gave a couple of steps on his direction and she stopped so close he could have touched her if only he had dared to raise his hand.

"No, you couldn't." She nodded, her eyes as cold as the storms of the Winter Court, and then walked past him, like she didn't even care about him.

 _Bitch_. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. It shouldn't have, but it did, and for a moment Cassian wanted to stop her, to yell at her that _he had tried_ , that he had raged and burned inside as he saw her being thrown into the Cauldron, as he saw her coming out and crawling to her sister. That neither of them deserved what had happened to them. But he hadn't been able to help because he had been protecting Azriel, _he had almost died_ protecting Azriel. Cassian didn't say anything, though, but turned to stare at her as she walked up the stairs again.

And Nesta could feel his stare and knew that she had been unfair. She had seen him trying to fight for her and her sister, trying to _crawl_ to reach her, but he had still not kept his promise, and even if there was a part of her that melted at the thought of knowing that someone had tried to protect her, even if she knew that he hadn't been able to do so because he had been wounded for saving his friend, she still couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. She still couldn't bring herself to even think about it.

When she walked back inside the room that they had given her, Elain was still sleeping, and Nesta laid next to her on the bed, allowing herself to close her eyes and letting sleep claim her, hoping that it would be one without dreams, because she was not ready for any more nightmares.

 

* * *

 

Nesta had finished getting dressed, having chosen a red dress and combed her hair on a braid that fall down her back, when Elain awoke. She moved to the bed to kiss her cheek.

"I'm going downstairs." She informed her. "Call me if you need me."

Elain nodded, the corners of her lips moving upwards, but she didn't quite manage a smile. It made Nesta furious, but she didn't show it. Instead, she kissed her forehead, and pushing away the ache inside her chest, she stood and walked out of the room. There were voices coming from the living room and she walked toward there, taking a deep breath but raising her head. The talk stopped as soon as she walked in, and her eyes fixed on the High Lord's violet ones.

"I want to be there when you kill him." She didn't need to say of whom she spoke, they all knew.

"It will be dangerous." Her sister's High Lord replied. "I can't allow you to risk…"

"You don't need to allow me, because I don't need your permission." Nesta cut him off. "That… _king_." She spat the word like a curse, her fists clenched. "Sent his people into our house. He harmed my family. _No one_ harms my family."

Rhysand was almost taken aback by the fierceness in her voice and she reminded her of Feyre more than she ever had.

"You don't have the training." Cassian interrupted, trying not to focus on how perfectly that dress fitted her curves or how bright she looked wearing red, like an avenging warrior, summoning fire to defend those that she cared about. "Fighting against him without training, even with us by your side, would be a suicide."

"Right, because none of you has what's needed to defeat him. That much is clear." Her words were poison but the Illyrian warrior wouldn't care. "Teach me, then. Train me. Because with or without your permission, with or without your help, I will face that… _bastard_ and I will make him pay for what he has done."

Surprisingly, she managed to remain calm and her factions didn't change as she spoke. The High Lord of the Night Court looked at the commander of his armies and then at his cousin, who sat next to him in silence, staring at the woman before them.

"Do it." Mor smiled at Rhys. "Help her."

He smirked at his Third in Command before turning back to his mate's sister.

"Fine."

Without giving him any other look, Nesta turned around to leave the room, walking upstairs again to check on her sister. Once she was gone, Mor turned to her cousin.

"She's full of fire and rage, that one."

"You blame her?" Cassian asked, maybe too harshly. "She wants justice for her family. For herself."

Mor shook her head, moving her golden hair away from her face.

"No, she wants vengeance. She just doesn't see that's not what she needs right now."

"And tell me, Mor, what does Nesta need?" Rhys asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Both males looked at her like they didn't understand what she meant and Morrigan smiled, her eyes moving to Cassian as she answered, even if her heart seemed to weigh even more in her chest upon understanding the truth that had been dancing before her eyes and she had not been able to see until that moment.

"A storm to match her rage."


	2. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I must admit that I wasn't planning on continuing this story because it was supposed to be a one chapter thing, but now I feel like I need to make it a little longer to get all the feels out of my system, so there will be maybe three or four chapters once I'm done with it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. And thanks to all those who left kudos because I never thought anyone would really take the time to read it and I'm so gratefull to all of you :)

Nesta had always known that fighting and hunting was not her thing, that was part of the reason why she had never stopped Feyre from doing so to help their family, because she couldn't, and she had hated both her sister and herself for it. But a part of her had thought that maybe this new Fae body she had been cursed with would be different, but it seemed that her human soul remained, and it was obvious by the second day of training that they were getting nowhere. Sure, she had managed to learn how to give a few good punches and kicks from Azriel, who didn't seem like a bad company to have as he never said a word if it was not to correct her position, but that had been it. The High Lord had pointed out that Cassian would be a better teacher, but hadn't pushed the matter after the commander of his armies told him that he was not on his best moment. Nesta tried to ignore the feeling of pain and sadness that washed over her when she saw him staring at his now healed but useless wings. He had tried flying again, she had heard Morrigan say, but by the shadow dancing on the warrior's eyes it looked like he had not been successful. Themselves

Elain woke her on the middle of the night and she was quick to push away the shadows of sleep that threatened to claim her again. It was a second after she noticed Elain's distraught features –sharp High Fae features but her sister's nonetheless-, that she heard screams coming from the other side of the house.

"I hope he gets better." Her sister cuddled against her, trying to fall asleep again despite the noise, and Nesta didn't answer.

"They brought war into our home." She whispered after a while, thinking that Elain was already asleep.

"They tried to stop it from reaching our home." Elain replied, still half-awake, and Nesta smiled down at her in the darkness. She had always known that her sister was wise beyond her years. And yet Elain's words haunted her long after her little sister had fallen asleep.

_I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it the most._ The words pounded in her head, and she knew Elain was right. Once again, she promised herself that she would meet the King of Hybern again one day, no matter what she had to do to achieve it, and then she'd kill him for all the pain he had inflicted.

The screams continued, and there was something in them, a desperation and agony that made her see Cassian was not screaming because he was in pain. He had stopped being in pain some days before. He was angry. Angry at the King for hurting his friends and making him weak, and angry at himself for not being able to fly. For not being worthy of the title of commander that his friend had given him.

And the whole manor seemed to shake under his fight and protest, reminding Nesta of the power she had felt coming off of him back on her family home, when Feyre and Rhys had sent him to handle the talks with the mortal queens. Wind and earth and a storm so strong she had hated how it'd make her feel. And fire. _Fire made flesh_.

After a while, the screams stopped, and the house felt silent. Nesta waited a little longer before she got out of the bed, careful not to wake her sister, who was finally sleeping without disturbance, and then put on a shawl over her nightgown before tiptoeing out of the room. She made sure to always have her right hand against the wall, not trusting her legs to support her as she walked down the hall. She had not told Elain or anyone else, but she had not been able to look at herself on the mirror since Mor had brought her and her sister to the town house, for fear she would not recognise her own face on it.

Cassian's room's door was ajar, and from her place among the shadows, Nesta saw that he was sitting on the bed with his head hidden between his hands. She shouldn't have been surprised by the tattoos that covered his chest and arms, having heard from Feyre what they meant to both Illyrian warriors and to their High Lord, and yet she tried to tell herself that it was because of the tattoos that she stared at his bare chest for longer that she had to. His wings fell down his back and to the bed, and when he looked up at her, the room too dark for Nesta to see the expression on his face, they didn't react. She hated how sad that made her.

"Get out." He groaned, his voice low and dark, and Nesta stiffened, ready to leave. "Nightmare. I've had enough of these dreams."

"I'm no dream." She snorted, rolling her eyes and daring to take one step into the room.

But the commander shook his head, his dark hair moving away from his face as his eyes stared directly at hers.

"You are. Nesta Archeron wouldn't be here." Cassian explained, letting out a bitter laugh. "I failed."

The Illyrian let his head fall and something inside of Nesta stirred, a fire burning through her very soul, because he reminded her of her father. Of how he had stopped fighting when crippled, and how he had not cared about trying anymore, even as he said, _even as he promised_ , that he did. And a part of her wanted to move forward and slap Cassian to bring him back to his senses, because she knew that he was nothing like her father, that he was not one to give up. Once, Nesta had found him dangerous, so dangerous that she would not have wished the death his eyes promised to anyone. Now, she would like that danger, that power, to stand at her side and at her sisters' side to fight on the war to come, to vanquish the King of Hybern, but the warrior who had walked into her family's house seemed to be gone. The fire inside of her shifted, igniting with a rage she did not remember she could express, and clenching her fists, Nesta raised her chin.

"So much for the Commander of the Night Court's armies." She spat at him. "You failed, yes, but you are not yet dead and your promise stands. Keep it. Fight for it. If you don't you may as well never stand before me again. It seems to me that you really are nothing but _a bastard-born nobody_." Her words were cold as ice and she was a pillar of steel before him, not raising her voice even as she raged, not wanting him to see how much she wanted him to stand and fight, not wanting him to see that a part of her _cared_. And yet, Cassian had always seemed to see right through her very essence.

He stood, his hands shaking, and his wings still useless and unmoved at his back, but even as he towered over her she did not falter, did not cower, did not stand back, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing her doubt.

" _Get. Out._ " Cassian said again, and the eldest Archeron sister didn't deign him with an answer, turning on her heels and leaving the room as swiftly as she had gotten into it.

Behind her, the Illyrian warrior fell back on his bed, rubbing the tears of impotence and anger that had formed in his eyes.


	3. Blooming

It would be weeks before Nesta saw Cassian again, but she didn't have time to bother herself with it, because Elain, who was spending more time with Morrigan, started to feel better. She no longer wandered the house on her own as though she was lost and didn't know how to get back to whom she had once been, and she had started to spend more time with Rhysand too. Nesta herself was also starting to like the company of the High Lord of the Night Court, even if she'd never _, ever_ , admit it out loud.

"Nesta." Mor's cheerful voice called for her, and the eldest Archeron sister stopped in the middle of the hallway to wait for her.

The Morrigan was wearing a white dress with an open back, and shone like the sun when the light touched her golden jewellery. When she joined her, she gave Nesta a sweet smile that Nesta didn't care to return.

"Are you on your way to see Elain?" The High Fae asked, and Nesta nodded, gesturing with her head. A silent invitation for Morrigan to accompany her.

"Rhysand said you took her out this morning, to buy some seeds for the garden."

Mor nodded, moving a lock of her golden hair behind her ear, and looking at the female before her with wary eyes. For all the weeks the Archeron sisters had spent with them, for the few times she had seen them back at the human realm, she still didn't know what to make of Nesta.

"I did. You should have seen her." She smiled. "Elain kept asking for specific flowers and plants. The woman who was selling them was delighted with her."

"Most people are." Nesta offered her a crooked smile, and despite the gesture, Mor could sense the bitterness in her voice.

"She was fine with me, you know? You don't have to protect her at all times."

"She's my sister."

Even before the words left her mouth, Mor knew they were unfair. Unfair because she didn't really know what had happened between Nesta and her siblings back in the little cottage where they used to live and unfair because she knew Feyre held no umbrage against his eldest sister, and yet she let them out anyway.

"Feyre was your sister too."

 _So predictable, this Fae_ , Nesta thought and didn't deign to give her an answer. She had been expecting such a statement, of course, and yet she found it funny that Morrigan said nothing else. If she had wanted to defend Feyre she might as well have fought her. And Nesta didn't answer because both her youngest sister and she knew why she was so overprotective of Elain, while she was not of Feyre. Because Feyre and Nesta were made of the same hard, bright, fierce stuff, even though they were as different as the moon and the stars. And that was why Nesta knew Feyre didn't need her protection, not always anyway, just like Feyre knew that anything to do with Nesta was none of her business.

But Elain had always been soft and sweet and loving, and she had remained so even after all those years they had spent living in the dirt and suffering from lack of food and warmth. And she remained so now, after what that wretched king had done to them, and Nesta was not willing to let that change. She'd rather die than let the brightness inside her sister turn into a coldness like hers.

In silence, Nesta and Morrigan finally made it to the garden, only to find Elain kneeling at the far side of it, her pink dress covered in dirt, even if she didn't seem to care, smiling happily at the dahlias she had in front of her.

"Bringing the place to life?" Nesta asked her, and Elain's brown eyes looked up to meet her blue-grey ones, bright with emotion.

"I was bored and Rhysand said he didn't care if I took over the garden." She stood, taking off the gardening gloves and straightening the dirty dress as best as she could. Even covered in dirt, though, she still glowed.

"It's beautiful." Mor smiled at her, walking closer to her to stare at the flowers she had planted and the earth next to them, where the seeds were. She wondered if any of them would be able to see them in full bloom.

Elain moved her chin up, proudly, and returned the gesture. It surprised Morrigan, to see how loving and kind and strong she was, especially compared to her sisters, who seemed to have been made by the Mother herself to shake the world around them. But her sweetness, Mor saw, was mainly what had kept the sisters together after all that time, and was a welcomed light into their home. She'd do well in Velaris, she knew, if only war wasn't coming their way.

"Thank you. And thank you for taking me to the market, it was great. I hope we can do it again someday soon." Even as she spoke to the golden haired High Fae, Elain could feel Nesta's gaze on her, and knowing her as well as she did, she easily guessed why her sister's eyes were full of storms. "I was fine, Nesta. You don't need to worry."

Elain couldn't blame her sister for worrying so much about her, not after everything they'd gone through. She knew that not many people understood why Nesta was how she was, that not many people saw that she was not really a frozen queen full of hatred like she sometimes seemed. But Elain understood for she had, after all, seen how his older sister had turned sad and quiet as they mother grew ill. She had also seen her cry the day she had died, but never after that day. And she knew that Nesta loved her, and she knew that she loved Feyre, so hard that maybe it was difficult for her to properly show it.

"You know I just want you to keep you safe."

"No one can keep anyone safe." She said matter of factly. "Father couldn't keep mother from dying or us from becoming poor, just like we couldn't protect Feyre when the High Lord of Spring came for her, and just like no one could save us from that Fae King." She shook her shoulders. "But that's life, I guess. And you are not to blame for all the things that happen around us, sister."

Elain knew that Nesta blamed herself for what had happened, even if she had tried to protect her when the forces of Hybern had come. She had seen her fight, after all. Fight against the soldiers that had stormed into their house to take them. Truth was that Elain hadn't known at first what was happening when Nesta pulled out what looked like a dagger with a wooden edge. It hadn't been until her sister had stabbed a soldier in the heart that Elain had discovered it was ash wood. It was still a mystery to her how Nesta had acquired such a thing. In the end, though, they had been taken.

She didn't blame Nesta for what the King of Hybern had done to them, of course, and she had made sure she knew that soon after Feyre's High Lord had welcomed them into his home. Elain wasn't sure if Nesta had believed her.

"The garden does look wonderful." Was all Nesta said before turning around and back inside the house, but Elain had seen the sad glitter inside her eyes. She knew better than to push her to talk, so she just let her go, turning her attention back to Mor, who had witnessed the exchange in silence, knowing that it had nothing to do with her.

* * *

Nesta all but ran back to her room, shutting the door loudly as soon as she got in. Biting her lowing lip, she rested her back on the door, not daring to move, and closed her eyes, feeling her whole body shake. She wouldn't have been able to tell how long she remained like that, containing herself, not wanting to cry, until she dared to move. How could she call herself strong when seeing Elain accept who she now was filled her with fear? She was happy for her sister, of course, she'd never wish her to be nothing but happy, but there was something inside of her making her uneasy, like a hole inside her chest full of shadows and darkness. And she knew that she was the only one to blame for it.

Slowly, swallowing past the lump on her throat, she walked toward the pier-glass standing next to her bed. She had covered it with a shawl weeks before, not wanting to know nothing about it, and hadn't even uncovered it to look at herself in the mirror in the mornings, allowing Elain to work on her hair as she pleased. Raising a hand, she grabbed the piece of cloth, and put it away with one single and quick move, letting it fall on the floor. There was a High Fae female staring back at her, and it took Nesta a moment to find herself in that image. She had the same high cheekbones, the same blue-grey eyes that Feyre also had, and the ones they had once shared with their mother. Her features were sharper, though, more fierce. Her left hand moved to touch her ears, pointy as they were now.

"I'm Nesta Archeron," she told her reflection, "That can never change."

She had once been a little girl who lived in a big manor and thought the world to be a good place. With time, she had become a woman who was forced to live in a little shack, knowing that the world was full of dangers and darkness, and having learnt that not even those closest to her were to be trusted. And that woman who had seen herself become something no better than a beggar had survived knowing that there were people who needed her and people that she loved. Elain and Feyre were still there, and love and blood still bound them all together. While those remained, Nesta knew she could keep on living without bothering for the storm that was her heart.

She forced her eyes to move from the mirror to the window when shadows started to cover it. It took Nesta a moment to see that there were plants, crawling up the building's façade, and she walked out of the room almost as quickly as she had walked inside. She met Rhysand half way to the garden.

"What is that?" she demanded, but the High Lord of the Night Court shook his head as they finally made their way out.

Elain was no longer kneeling beside the flowers, but standing in the middle of the now blooming garden, with Mor standing not far away, her face full of wonder and surprise. Azriel had joined them too and even the usually inexpressive Illyrian looked marvelled. One look around them was enough for Nesta to be amazed herself. The seeds that Elain had finished planting barely _minutes_ before were now beautiful camellias, chrysanthemums, echinaceas and asters in full bloom. The plant Nesta had seen creeping through her bedroom's window was ivy that had claimed most of the façade of the building. There were hibiscus in Elain's palms, and if one didn't pay enough attention it could almost seem like she had picked them up, when in truth they were blooming _from_ her hands. _Literally_.

"Mother above," Rhysand muttered, exchanging looks with his cousin, but Nesta paid him no mind, her eyes focused on her sister, who was laughing cheerfully and shown with a light that Nesta hadn't seen in a long time. A large white butterfly flew to the flower that Elain was still holding in her hand and Nesta's younger sister busted into laugher again, finally raising her brown eyes to meet her sister's. It seemed to Nesta that they had a golden glow to them. Not caring about the people surrounding them, Nesta smiled at her, a pure and genuine smile, and Elain moved her hand and the butterfly flew away as the flower fell to join the bed of flowers at Elain's feet.

"Feyre was right," she said, still smiling, and even if it may have seemed and innocent commentary, the weight of the words fell on Nesta's shoulders as thought it was a stone slab. And her memory wandered to the drawer Feyre had painted all those years ago. Had it really been just years? It seemed like a lifetime had gone by. She had rescued the drawer from the shack, seeing as her father had only bothered to take their mother's bed, and it now rested on her room at the manor from where she and her sister had been taken. The flowers that Feyre had drawn for Elain resembled those around her at the moment. And the dark night, full of starlight for herself... _Feyre was right_.

Nesta couldn't help but look up to the sky, even if she knew there was no one there. _Fire, fire, fire_.


	4. Sparks

Rhysand came for them two days after Elain discovered what she could do. Both sisters were dinning with Mor in the living room and, much to his surprise, Nesta was the first one to nod at him, not complaining at all about having to leave this house.

"Is it because of…?" Elain muttered, gesturing to the jar full of flowers on the middle of the table.

"Not entirely," Rhys confessed, "But I have to go to one of our camps and I think it's best if you came with us."

As Elain smiled politely at him, her thoughts running wild and crazy, though Rhys tried not to pay attention to it, Mor turned to him, and he could see concern inside her big brown eyes.

"Are we all going?"

"Amren will stay here," he answered. Rhysand had debated it for long. He didn't want to leave Feyre's sisters at Velaris, not while he was away, and knew that, if they came with him, he would need Mor at his side, both to keep them company and to protect them if something happened, and if his cousin came, Azriel would not stay behind. So he had gone to see Amren that morning, to tell her that she was in charge of the city while they were gone. His friend had complained at first, because being left with such a responsibility was not something her wild heart desired, but a bucket of blood had improved her mood. "I can't winnow there, not directly," he continued, his eyes still on Morrigan's, "We can't risk it. Azriel and you will take Nesta and Elain."

"You are flying all the way there?"

"No," he just answered, but added nothing else. He would winnow to the mountains, far enough to the camp so that no one may trace him back there, but close enough it wouldn't take him too long to get to his friends. "Cassian will be waiting for you."

Mor nodded, but Rhys wasn't looking at her, because he could have sworn that he had _felt_ something in the room, a mind that he hadn't felt before. It took him barely a second to realize it was Nesta, and by the time he turned to her, he could feel her no longer. Softly, slowly, he pushed his mind inside of hers, but found nothing but a wall of steel. Her grey-blue eyes were fixed on his violet ones and he compelled himself to look away, knowing that she would notice if he tried to break through her shields, but still curious as to why his words had caused a reaction from her. The High Lord of the Night Court couldn't stop smiling as he left the room.

* * *

Nesta had once thought she would freeze and die at the hovel where they used to live, because winters there were hard and unforgiving, but now, walking between Azriel and Mor into the Illyrian war-camp, she felt like those months spent curled up next to the fire had been nothing but spring days. There were dozens of winged males on the air, either flying out of the camp or getting to it, and she could see some others training on the far side of the camp. Next to her, she felt Azriel stiffen, and the shadows he had around him and that had, at first, made her uncomfortable, danced around his face. It took the eldest Archeron sister a moment to understand that his reaction was because there was someone approaching them. And it wasn't Cassian.

"The High Lord sends this dog to do his bidding now that the other has proved to be as week as we always knew him to be." There was anger and arrogance and hate in his voice, and some of the men that flanked him laughed and smirked at his commentary.

"Lord Devlon," Morrigan smiled, "We are so happy to see you again. I'm afraid it is the Commander we are looking for, not you."

"Yes, I'm sure _you_ are." The Illyrian snarled. "I have no idea where the bastard is, but if you ask me, I think I'd have been better to put him out of his misery. To have his wings shattered…" he laughed and the shadows around Azriel seemed to reach for him, though he made them retreat, "He finally proved he is no true warrior. We threw him into the mud for a reason all those years ago. He should have died back then."

"But he didn't." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, but she didn't regret them, not at all.

Nesta's grey-blue eyes turned to the male before her. Warrior, he called himself, leader…He made her want to vomit. Lord Devlon turned to her and she raised her head up. And when he made to move toward her, she gave a step forward, her gaze as cold as the wind around them. A challenge. She shouldn't have been surprised to see him look her up and down, weighing and measuring her.

"You have no voice here, woman."

A part of her wanted to look away from him, to give him nothing but bitterness, cold, and silence. To let it go and let him think he had won somehow, if only not to allow her walls to be knocked down. And yet…

"Well, apparently, neither do you."

The surprise that decorated his features filled her with no little amount of emotion, though he looked seconds away from attacking her. She'd show him she had sharp teeth if he tried.

"Lord Devlon," Cassian's voice called and the male didn't even turn to look at him as he joined them to stand next to Azriel, his eyes still on Nesta, who didn't, and wouldn't, give him the pleasure of seeing her backing down. "I believe you are needed elsewhere."

The Illyrian groaned, not even looking at Cassian, and turned around to leave. The soldiers flanking him followed suit. Mor moved behind Azriel, her hand raising casually to rest on his shoulder, and the shadows around him seemed to calm.

"What a hideous man," Elain complained, "How can he be allowed to rule anything?"

"He is a necessary evil." A voice answered her, and the High Lord of the Night Court joined them.

Mor nodded as her cousin started walking away, making them follow. "He is not nice, but he is the only one that is willing to endure our company." She rolled her eyes, visibly displeased.

"Don't worry," Rhysand turned to Elain, "You won't have to deal with him and he won't dare to talk to you. Not if he remembers who he'll have to answer to if he does, at least."

Nesta stared at them as she slowed her pace, falling in step with Cassian, who smirked at her. "Devlon will not forget your defiance. I'm not sure anyone has spoken to him like that in a long time."

She didn't answer him, but one look at his hazel eyes told her she didn't have too. And she hated it. Hated it because she knew that behind his smirk he could see that she had cared, that she had wanted to defend him, that she would do it again if needed be. And hated him because even after everything she had told him the last time they had seen each other, Cassian still smiled at her and his eyes were warm and kind. She couldn't stop noticing the way his wings moved, ever so slightly. Almost without noticing –at least she told herself it hadn't been on purpose –she brushed her arm against his as their walked, and his pupils expanded to nearly devour the hazel irises.

"Let him remember then," Nesta said, after a long moment of silence, as they finally reached the others, and then lowered her voice, and said softly, "Maybe bastards are, after all, the only good thing this wrenched winged race can produce." And she walked away from him, joining Elain as Mor guided them inside the house that'd be their residence for as long as they stayed at the war-camp. Still, he could feel Cassian's eyes burning at her back.

* * *

Mother damn him.

 _Nesta_.

Cassian felt like they were both still standing in the eye of a storm, surrounded by clouds and raging heavenly fire but unbothered by them. There were times in which he wanted to throttle her but other times…other times he felt as though he would shatter himself just to make sure no harm came to her ever again. Those thoughts were the ones that scared him the most. Scared him because he didn't know what to make of them. And yet, listening to her words…

He knew better than to think Nesta Archeron would praise him, and yet there she was, insulting all of those who had been his superiors and had treated him like he was no better than the dirt the stepped on. All while saying that _he_ was good.

Cassian had seen it in those blue-grey eyes of her, had seen her cunning mind at work, her walls bending and opening as she spoke to him, and then he had seen her close herself again, building a fortress of stone and ice to hide herself inside it. And he wanted to curse her name for it, for making him see her, for letting him understand, and then walking away.

His blood chilled when he saw Mor talking to Nesta as they waked into the house in which Rhys had once sheltered him and, as focused as he was on them, he didn't see Rhysand approaching him.

"You look like you need a drink…or ten," his friend smiled at him, "Or maybe just a good fight."

Cassian groaned. "You read my thoughts now, brother?"

"I don't need to, Cassian, they are too loud. It's like you were screaming in my ear."

The Illyrian warrior shook his head, walking away from Rhys even as he followed him, away from the house. "Damn you, Rhysand."

"You are the damned one," Rhys replied, walking side by side with him. Cassian noticed his eyes moving to his wings and he spread them wider. He couldn't fly, not yet anyway, but he could move them, and he had cried the day he'd discovered it, right after his fight with Nesta in Velaris. "She'll eat you alive, you know?"

Cassian didn't answer, but some hidden and burning part of him prayed to the Mother and the Cauldron both to let him be so lucky.


End file.
